


Need For Life

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-16
Updated: 2005-01-16
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: When the world is ending.





	Need For Life

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Need For Life

### Need For Life

#### by Griva and Nicholas

  


Title: Need for Life  
Authors: Griva and Nicholas  
E-Mail: , Category: PWP, Post-Col  
Rating: NC-17  
Notes: For the "Booty Call" MKLove challenge. Well, we tried to stay in its frames... Another note: It all went to hell in winter 1996, ca after Piper Maru, when the aliens attacked. And why not? 

\-- 

The cell-phones have been dead for six months since the first oblong shapes and lights in the skies appeared. But I needed no dead plastic to keep the promise given in the quickly fading days when CNN started and finished the day and I had a cup of French Roast at Starbucks every morning. 

The taste not for the timid, the ad said. I still can remember the blunt, smoky aftertaste of it in my mouth when I'm lucky to find a pool of not contaminated water. 

Now my lips are parched with another kind of thirst. 

I checked the tattered note, its familiar maniac scrawl is inimitable. It guarantees the safe passage. It's June but there is hardly any grass, just dead leaves and cold wind. No sun visible through the blanket of ashen clouds, but my color is high and my head is spinning with the knowledge. 

He is alive. He is _still_ alive. The gun in my armpit feels redundant, I know he won't hurt me. He never intended to. 

_All is going to hell. We are doing all we can. We won't last long, but I want to see you again. It doesn't matter what has happened before. You know where to find me. Come if you dare._

I have, since then. Came to the bunker and stayed, coming and coming. My calendar is the rusty hood of a Ford pickup and I mark it with a sharpened fork. Sun up, one more notch. They think I mark the days to help them to remember and to give them hope we make it another month. When there are fifteen, I leave, without a word and they watch me go, in hope I will come back. 

I'm 34. I am almost sure I won't live to see 35. When you get the Black Cancer, it kills you within a week. I wonder why I'm not infected so far. They think it's a Sign. Those people who die around me every day. I'm the reluctant leader of the few who still hope. But I know we are doomed. Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torments of man. 

I am here for the sweetest torment I have no name for. 

I open the heavy door, squinting my eyes as I peer into the dangerous, aluminium smelling blackness. My hands are wet and I rub them against my pants that knew better times, a lousy attempt at calming a racing heart. He has to be here somewhere, he said he - 

"Close the door and come here," his voice sounds out from the shadows and my heart jumps as much as relief floods through me. It _is_ him. Alive and breathing. I push the door closed behind me and step into the general direction of his voice. Just as I can make out his silhouette against the darker shadows he switches the flashlight on and I take him in, my body trembling slightly now as my eyes move up and down his body. Whole. Still whole and no sign of the skin-eating disease or acid burns on his hands or face. One look into his eyes, and I bite my lip, averting mine, my fingers clenching uneasily at my sides. My heart is beating in my throat, already now the excitement makes my body throb. 

"You are _still_ blushing when we meet for this. Still shy..." he murmurs, standing a few feet away from me still. And I feel the genuine smile I don't see. 

I am. I never managed to step over what my mother used to say, "Sex is God's joke on human beings." 

Taking a deep breath, I force my head up and grin at him, pull my stained what-was-once-a-knit-sweater off. "Better?" I ask trying for confidence, letting the sweater slip from my hand to the floor. It's so dirty anyway. 

"Hmm, let me have a look... a little bit too skinny for my taste... but if you turn your back to me...." he says with a gleam in his eyes, his hand making a 'turn-around' motion and I catch another glance into his eyes before I obey that command. My hands are on the fly of my pants, popping open the buttons as I display my back to him, pushing out my ass, blushing wildly. 

I'm never cold around him. 

"Yeah, show yourself off, boy... what's it you've got there... nice and all for me." 

Slowly, I push the jeans down, and shiver as I feel the draft of air on my bare skin. Not wearing underwear - there is none these times, and it's better than the fake morality of the world drowned in toxic fumes and ear-tearing noise, pants pooled around ankles and my hands hang loosely by my sides, fists clenching and unclenching, feeling his hot gaze on me. 

From the first time we laid eyes on each other he gave me those looks. 

We started to play late, but we have been catching up over those black and bleak days. 

I don't hear him stepping closer, and jump as I feel him running his hand down my spine from the shoulder-blades to the coccyx, cool fingers down my warm body. "You've still got some nice clean skin down there, boy..." 

I shiver with the caress, sigh, push into the touch, wanting more of the same, a real touch, something to hold onto. 

He slaps my naked ass instead, making me jump again. "So, you go around butt-naked, boy?" he asks, his voice so low. 

In fact I'm lucky to have more clothes than most of the survivors have, but then... they say I'm the ONE. What I care for is that I'm the one for him. 

And I try not to laugh out loud, hysterically at how glad I am someone calls me _boy_. 

I will my body not to react, to show no outward sign of my fast-beating heart. I draw a deep breath, then turn around, grinning sassily, "So what if I do?" 

"Got a nerve, eh?" he replies sharply, his gaze boring into me, a line of heat that moves up and down my body to finally focus on my eyes. 

I avert my eyes, bleeding under my cheeks again, then push my chin out in mock confidence, deliberately catching his gaze. "Sure." 

"We'll check that -" He ducks back into the shadows only to reappear moments later, a club in his hands, deep black, that he turns easily in his palms, his eyes on me all the time. Where has he gotten one? I know he wears a knife and a gun like mine, only smaller, yet not less deadlier. He steps closer to my trembling body, runs the club up the inside of my pale, naked, tender inner thigh with a smile. I involuntarily step back, barely able to contain a little thrust of the hips, but the cold plastic remains in contact with my skin, involuntarily stepping forward again to just - feel. 

"Hmm, wanna get some, boy? Haven't been touched since last Christmas?" he taunts. 

I bite on my tongue in order not to start yelling. But my eyes sting anyway - billions died last Christmas. The lucky ones in their sleep. 

I nod, peek at him from under my eyelashes, try to force my hips not to move, not to give anything away. 

"So how do you survive, young man?" his voice invades my haze. He keeps touching me with the club, carefully, between my legs. 

I inch back some more, need to regain some control, almost toppling over with the jeans still around my ankles, but there's no escaping him and the slow maddening movement of the club. It makes me shiver, unable to contain my body's reaction. I mumble, "Jerking off," eyes turned to the floor, redness hitting my cheeks. 

"Jerk off often? What do you think about when you do?" he asks, meanwhile keeping the club between my legs. With his free hand he reaches up to touch my throbbing throat, to feel me swallow with a dry throat, erratic breathing. 

I gulp, mumble, "Not often," swallow, hard, "thinking about stuff." When you walk among about a hundred desperate, half-starved men with different degrees of toxic burns and skin-caner, you keep your hands off your cock. But the more now I'm desperately trying not to hump the club, eyes fluttering close for a moment. 

All I want is to forget. 

"Tell me, what _stuff_..." he whispers into my hotly flaming ear, keeps caressing the side of my throat with one, two fingers. I learnt to shave with a shiv. Two more scars to add up, but they are mere scratches. So slow, so light...while letting me saddle the club. I clench my thighs around the club, thrusting slowly back and worth, biting my lip to contain a moan, my breathing laboured. 

I whisper, "Just ... stuff," not wanting this, not like _this_ after I came all the long way over here... yet ready to take anything he offers. 

"Not so smug any more?" he asks before his hand moves up from my throat to fist a handful of my hair. It grew long. Longer than I ever wore. He pulls my head back, till it hurts, just a bit. He watches me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound that is too desperate, too needy. Only one harsh breath is allowed to leave my throat. No more. Panting. Moaning. No- 

"You little bare-assed slut," he whispers into my ear. 

Since I heard his voice, I knew he was not what he wanted me to believe he is. 

But I believed him anyway. 

I gulp, moan, lick my lips, sweat rolling down my spine, my hips thrusting steadily. 

"So, such stuff you think about?" He nips on my hot, damp shoulder, right on the bone that sticks out more than a bit, pulls on my hair some more, and thrusts the club up, creating an exquisite blend of pain and pleasure, friction overload. 

"Ah fuck! Yes!" I pant, muscles clenching. I reach down to touch my cock, to give it one pull, only one. 

"Uh oh, no one has allowed you to do that," he says dangerously and the tip of the club presses _too_ hard between my legs, making me clench my thighs around it to take away some of the pressure. 

I whimper. "No please, just a touch." My hand hovers in midair. Encounters a concrete wall. No panic. Whatever we do here is twenty times safer than what expects me out there. Especially when the nights falls. Or rain. The one that eats your eyes out. 

I bite my lip again, breathing hard through my nose. 

"Hmm, if you promise to be an obedient, nice little warrior," he amends, wiggling the club between my clenched thighs, making me gasp out. 

"Yes, I promise," I say breathlessly. 

"Repeat, with feeling." 

Somebody tell me if this is me. Or the _me_ I used to be. But they don't know how weak he makes me. And I don't care. This is what I need. 

I moan. "I promise, I do, just one touch, please. Please!" 

Silence. 

He roughly forces my thighs open, withdraws the club, lets go of my hair and pushes me away, making me struggle to keep my footing. "Changed my mind." 

I stare at him, stunned, panting hard, whimpering. "Nooo." 

He takes a step back, as if in deep doubt, then closer again. He still wears the same clothes from the last time - the time when we reversed the game. When I had him pressed to the crates and surging under my fingers, lips desperate for purchase on anything warm. 'Make me feel alive,' he kept repeating, and he smelt so healthy and human that my head was swelling faster than my cock. 

_You are my only weakness._ My knees wobble remembering his whisper. 

I fearfully watch him caress the tip of the club with one hand, with the other he reaches out and touches my chin, brings his lips closer to mine, but never touching, never enough, only his hot breath on my lips. 

"Really? And what if I just leave?" 

I stare at him wide-eyed, push forward to catch a taste of his lips, inch close to him to rub myself against his body. "You can't!" I whine, reach for him. 

"What's keeping me here, my big brave pup?" he whispers, takes my chin in his hand, and licks my lips. Once. 

I push forward to capture his tongue with my lips. There's hope. I whimper. If the world wasn't dying, I would have been ashamed of my own desperation. 

"I could...could...suck your cock? Something? Anything?" 

"No, that's too easy, my man." 

"But ... but what else... Anything!" 

"Show me how you touch yourself...when you think about ... _stuff_." He pushes me in the chest, away so that I fall onto something softer than the stone floor behind me, my breath knocked out of me, not by the push but by the surprise, by the heat of unwelcome shame. 

I look up at him with wide open eyes, break into more sweat, look at my cock and back at him, and see that dark resolve in his eyes, his patient, bordering on impatient posture. I timidly touch my cock, sweat some more, mumble so that he can't really hear it. 

"Can't...can't do it when you're watching," I say miserably. And my hand sinks back to the covered floor; my eyes study the ground beneath me and him, only to shyly travel up his body, a pleading look in my eyes. 

He cocks his head to the side, as if he heard me anyway. He rubs the club suggestively between his palms. "What if you try..." He then uses it to drag my already down pants away. Naked. Exposed for him. 

I have lost lots of weight. I can't eat bark like some. But they give me the best food because I am the strongest. And I know where to hide and how to recognize the shape shifters by pure intuition. I have the weapons and he gets me more when I ask and I learnt how to strangle with my bare hands. 

And I let him order me to masturbate for show, spread out on the floor of some abandoned bunker. I think we are still in what used to be Texas. 

I reluctantly move my hand back to my cock, close my eyes to concentrate, to blend him out, yet with the knowledge that he is there, as my hand moves up and down on my cock. I pull the foreskin back carefully, head wet with precum, watch him through half-slit eyes. As I focus on the club between his palms moving back and forth, remembering the feel of it between my thighs, so gentle, yet so unyielding as it moved back and forth, pressed hard against me. I groan, my hand moving faster on my cock, spreading the precum, the sounds - those sounds, him moving the club over his palm in time to me moving my hand on his cock. Back and forth, black plastic, back and forth. 

"So, just a little bit of club-humping, and we are already dripping?" He reaches out with the club to outline my spread legs, up my ankle, shin, calf, the tender skin of the back of my knee, thigh, higher, closer towards- 

I want - wait - want for it to press against my balls, heavy with useless semen, press hard... until... 

Breathing through my open mouth now, dry lips, dry throat, the muscles in my thighs burning with the need to remain spread. I moan, "Yeeeesss..." and thrust my hips hard into the air. 

"More!" 

He presses the club to my cock-head, hard, till I squirm on the floor, a quivering dance of needing to escape and needing to get closer. 

"And what if I hit now, hard?" he murmurs, increasing the pressure just enough, just a fraction, to make me cry out. 

He steps closer, kneels between my already spread legs. "Give me some space, _slut_!" 

Doesn't matter what he calls me. Better this than nothing. Those who gather around me don't remember my name. Or don't want to know it. 

I groan, press my cock against the club, imagining the pain of the impact with my cock-head, moan again, spread my thighs a bit more, trembling as I look up on him, feeling vulnerable under his gaze, as he takes in my fluttering stomach muscles, those parted lips, my glazed eyes that fall shut again as his gaze locks on them, predatory. And I am the prey. 

I'm safe with someone who used to be my best enemy. 

He moves the club from my profusely dripping cock, slides it through my pubic hair up my torso, leaving a trail of precum on my body. "Touch yourself, with _one_ hand!" he orders as he moves up closer, the club coming to rest in the hollow of my throat. More pressure. 

I swallow hard against the restriction, eyes fluttering close again, and move my right hand on my cock while left one lies limply on the floor, hips alternatively rising from the ground and pressing into it, panting, laboured breathing, sweaty, out of control, out of focus, only my throbbing cock. The club is resting against my throat and his heat is so close to my body. I dread to turn my head and have my air cut off, as the club is pressed rather hard to my jugular, yet I feel him as he bends down, feel his tongue as he licks my lips again. I open my mouth wider, offering more. Needing more. 

"Don't wanna have you suck my anything, man. Just wanna see you come. By hand and club alone. Will you? Or do you need.... help?" he whispers against my lips, the club pressing just a bit harder. 

I hear the blood rush in my ears, trying to draw more air in lungs than is possible, hand moving faster. I bite my lip hard to keep from moaning shamelessly, drawing blood, his tongue outlining the tense lips now. 

"Help?" I ask with a gasp, not quite there anymore, not quite aware anymore. 

"Yeah... help," he says and keeps licking my mouth but otherwise he won't allow to be touched anywhere. I try once, but he pushes my hand away. I try another time and he pins it to the floor. 

"I said stroke yourself! You forgot how you used to?" 

I wished I could. 

I clench my jaw, getting so close. "More! Something more!" I wrench my hand from beneath his grip and grab his arm, fingers digging in, needing something to hold onto. 

He watches me stroke myself, hard, greedy and selfish, forgetting about _stuff_ and _shame_. He takes my mouth again, this time really _takes_ more than I am ready to offer, sucks on my tongue, stealing the last of my breath, and then puts his hand below frantically stroking mine. 

"Feels good," he mumbles into my hot, searching mouth. 

I move hard into his touch, desperately trying to wrestle with his tongue, panting hard, hips rising with hard thrusts, shifting closer to him, to gain more leverage and body contact, pushing hard, harder, the warmth from his body suffusing me with insane joy. 

Mine. Whatever he asks for. And it will return to me. 

His hand travels lower, to feel my balls, lower to touch me where I am the hottest while he watches my legs shift and my body tense. He keeps my head in place, not allowing me to turn away, kissing me all over my face. 

Like I used to kiss him. Like I dream of doing again when I have strength to dream. 

I feel his finger touch the outer rim of my asshole, low groan ripped from my throat as my movements get erratic. His finger pushes inside, just the tip of it. This... this is too painful to remember. What we used to be. What we might have had. 

What we are left with. 

Need. For. Life. 

I arch up, calling out his name. The full body contact, at last. 

This is what I have. All I need. 

"Now," I half beg half command, into the familiar, still-soft cradle of his neck. 

The twist of his two fingers inside is more than I can bear. 

One final full body clench and I cum over both of our hands, panting hard with the exertion, the muscles in my back, in my thighs, in my arms hurting and singing with sweet release. I blink up at him as I search out his lips with mine again. 

Breath. Need to breathe. Breathe hard. Glowing. A wave of relaxation as the muscles unclench. My eyes fluttering wildly with the afterglow. 

"Wasn't that hard to step over the shy-pup pretense, man?" he asks softly and licks my ear, while he slowly rubs my cum into the damp skin of my belly, "A weird trait for a hero of the day." 

He is still fully dressed, sprawled by my side, and I'm stark naked apart from my boots. I used to laugh out loud at porn shots like these. 

But then I didn't know the world will end in a few years and most women will die first. 

I hide my head in the crook of his neck, licking his skin there, mouthing it, nipping on it a bit, suckling it softly. "No," I whisper. "And I'm not a hero." 

"Whatever. So are you happy?" He ruffles my tangled hair, kissing the top of my head. 

I smile. "Yeah...was so good." I nuzzle his neck some more in the afterglow, sigh. "So good." I finger the club slowly, laugh softly, pressing another kiss to the side of his neck. I look at him with wide, glazing eyes. "So good." 

I cuddle against him, head heavy. I haven't slept in safety for two weeks. If he starts speaking, he will lull me in and he won't wake me up. 

And he won't leave. Watching over me. 

Till next time. 

He chuckles into my hair. "What can I say? I'm glad you managed to make it." 

The hell he is. I'm floating. My eyes are glueing together. My mind has to anchor on something. Oh, I know what _else_ I want to ask. I always babbled too much in the afterglow. 

"Where the heck have you found that club?" He only laughs low in his throat, a balls-tingling sound. "And you promised to gather up more survivors so that we try to fight back. You have been up North? They say they have burnt out every single living being there. Is there any hope?" 

I know he is nodding a yes to my every question. We feed on hope, but reality is only death. It's only a matter of months till they get to us. We can't run forever. And we can't live in the poisoned Mexican Gulf. 

I got used to the thought of dying. Everybody dies, I was told once. 

The cloth of his pants chafes on my skin. I want to hold him. To feel the smooth skin of his back and the scarred one of his chest. 

"Why the heck don't you undress?" 

Silence. I hear him hold his breath. Then I hear him undo his tattered leather jacket. 

My heart misses a beat, my fingers turn icy. 

Suddenly I'm afraid to open my eyes. 

*end   
  

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Griva and Nicholas


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